


Bane Of The Lost

by Joysprings



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Caring Yennefer, Ciri Loves Jaskier, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Fluff and Angst, Geralt finally cries, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier and Yennefer are friends, Let Geralt Cry 2020, M/M, Magic, Monsters, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach, Scared Jaskier | Dandelion, Serious Injuries, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Worried Ciri, Yennefer is a good bro, crying Jaskier, crying geralt, scared Geralt, witcher family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joysprings/pseuds/Joysprings
Summary: “Run Jaskier!”His eyes squeezed shut, a sharp inhale sucked between his teeth. He would never forget the sheer amount of panic he’d heard in Geralt’s voice, though he so desperately wished to.“I won’t leave you to die Geralt!”His foolish reply had been met with crazed yellow eyes, and something in them had spooked Jaskier to his very core, for Geralt had never worn a look like that. Yet the bard had not budget, stubborn and loyal as he was.While lost and grievously injured, Jaskier reflects on the events that lead him to be in this position. Now it's a question of survival. Geralt would find him. But how would the witcher react when faced with the gravity of potentially loosing the one he loves most?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, geraskier - Relationship
Comments: 19
Kudos: 678





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place well after season one in which Yen, Ciri Jaskier and Geralt are all a close nit family of sorts. Also post Geralt apologizing for the mountain scene, including the two getting together as a couple. A warning! There is some quite extensive imagery of blood and gore as well as a near death experience! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

The rain spilled from the skies, a monsoon cascading and soaking everything it touched. From the tips of the tallest tree branches, to the tiniest pebble on the forest floor. The sound was calming. Consistent white noise pitter pattering on bright green, a stark contrast against the gray of the clouds above. A stream of water fell from the mouth of a small cavern, landing in a puddle to create a muddy concoction perfect for the earthworms.

There was a bite in the air, the cold grip of early spring fluttering about as the last of the frost retreated for the season. It was amplified by the downpour, a chill that felt more like an autumn evening lingering about. A hot exhale escaped, the foggy swirl of breath resembling smoke off a recently quenched fire pit. The feeling of it all was dreadful. Sickening, especially now within the circumstances.

A shiver began crawling down the back of Jaskiers neck along his spine. His hunched figure curled to conserve what little heat he still had, however his body could only constrict so much without excruciating pain. His clothes were sopping wet, torn and bloody clinging to his skin in a cold and uncomfortable embrace from which he could not break free. He was trembling against his will, teeth chattering and heart still racing as his discombobulated mind reeled, playing the recent events over and over.

_“_ _Run Jaskier!”_

His eyes squeezed shut, a sharp inhale sucked between his teeth. He would never forget the sheer amount of panic he’d heard in Geralt’s voice, though he so desperately wished to.

_“I won’t leave you_ _to die Geralt_ _!”_

His foolish reply had been met with crazed yellow eyes, and something in them had spooked Jaskier to his very core, for Geralt had never worn a look like that. Yet the bard had not budged, stubborn and loyal as he was.

There was a rumble that echoed through the woods, a far off storm making its presence known. Jaskier struggled to scoot further into his cave, which was more a cavity of rock. Calling it a cave was generous, as his back had already hit the end of it.

It was jarring how truly alone he was. His lute had been lost during the encounter, and for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to mourn it’s loss as flashes of bodies, blood and torn innards haunted his mind.

_“I said run! Now!”_

The command had been a gravely scream as a sword was unsheathed, black boots stepping over carcasses to meet a certain doom.

A muffled sob escaped the bard, who put a fist to his mouth in a futile attempt to keep calm. His shaking was only becoming worse, and not because of the cold.

The creature had been monstrous. Huge. A hideous beast with mighty claws, razor teeth and rotting breath, its howl absolutely chilling to the bone. It was like nothing Jaskier had ever seen before, the macabre sight of it he knew would plague his nightmares for years to come. It stepped over it’s victims, giant paws soaked with fairly fresh blood.

A band of innocent travelers, men women and children alike had been scattered to bits and pieces, blank eyes unseeing, dead for at most half an hour. Pink wriggling organs painted the forest floor, some having been torn out so gruesomely they now hung from branches off of nearby trees. It was, put quite simply, a massacre. The duo had been caught unprepared, stumbling upon the scene with no supplies and no Roach. Just a witcher a bard, and one steel sword.

_“_ _N_ _ow_ _Jaskier_ _! Get to camp and ride Roach as far as you can do you understand? I’ll find you!”_

Another loud sob pushed its way out of his chest, powerful enough to spur a coughing fit, that sent a wave of unimaginable pain through his sore body. Hot salty tears fell freely. Clammy fingers curled into a fist. His chest heaved as he gasped and cried trying so desperately to gulp in fresh air, lungs refusing to cooperate.

Bits of flesh and bone stuck between massive fangs flashed inside his memory. It’s jaw dropped open saliva sluggishly dripping pink and rancid. The creatures snout curled into a snarl as another blood curling cry rattling the earth around them.

There hadn’t been time to react. The creature had attacked, springing into action, giving Geralt only a moments notice to dodge. Jaskier had felt his blood run cold at the sight, horrified for a moment that his lover would be injured. Thankfully Geralt had jumped to the side and bounced back to his feet, now prepared for battle.

The monster slipped, scrambling for footing on the mud. Rain had been falling sluggishly all day and the ground was saturated with it. Jaskier had scurried back in fear as the creature slid straight towards him. He’d stumbled over his own feet, and right into the rock wall of the sloped cliff that blocked off their escape to the west.

_“_ _Come on!”_

Geralt had screamed loudly at the beast, making noise in an attempt to lure it closer to him and away from the bard. He’d thrown a jagged stone, hitting it’s shoulder and succeeded in angering it. The roar it let out was one of fury. A deep menacing sound, gigantic body tensing as it prepared to pounce at the witcher, blotchy fur bristled.

Jaskier was not a fighter. He knew as much. He’d be no help in that way but one thing he did have, was brains. He was clever and he knew it. It was his wit and fast thinking that had saved him and even Geralt on multiple occasions. This, he decided, would be one of them. He refused to stand by and allow for harm to befall his witcher. No. He would protect him as much as he could.

That distant thunder was back, but it still startled the panicked bard out of his memories. He hissed, pressing a hand to his injured side. Several ribs broken, shoulder dislocated and ankle twisted, perhaps also broken at this point. He was sure he was concussed as well, not to mention the rest of him felt like one gigantic bruise. He wouldn’t have been surprised if someone were to tell him he was bleeding internally. Geralt would find him. He would. He knew it.

The creature had lunged, he recalled in a haze, however Geralt had been expecting it. That information alone allowed for Jaskier to breathe in relief as he discarded his lute from his shoulder and began to climb the cliff, forming his plan. He scaled the side of the wall as fast as he could without risking a fall, ears perked listening closely to the fight below.

There. A little cove between the ridge and a loose boulder, just a bit higher and he would make it. He shimmied his way behind the formation and waited with baited breath for the perfect moment. The blood rushed hot through his veins spiked with a fear like no other. He was terrified for Geralt. To see what this creature was capable of made his stomach lurch.

Thankfully he hadn’t needed to wait long. The beast managed to bat Geralt back with it’s massive paw, the witcher rolling in the opposite direction where he’d be safe from what Jaskier had to do. Without wasting another moment Jaskier pushed with all his might, back between the cliff and legs braced upon the large rock.

It had worked. In fact it had worked a little too well. That boulder turned out not being the only loose one along the cliff. As soon as Jaskier was able to un lodge it, there was an ominous vibration beneath him before suddenly he had been tumbling down along with a wreckage he had not expected.

Looking back at the memory what had happened was that the boulder, upon being pushed loose, had triggered a mini landslide. Mud made slick from the precipitation, pebbles, larger stones and debris of all sorts had broken apart underneath his little ledge and swept the unlucky bard along with it.

_“_ _Jaskier!”_

The pain had hit like a ton of bricks. One moment, he’d been falling, the next he’d been engulfed by the rockfall, tumbling along as it swept the creature and himself away. He remembered Geralt’s distant voice hollering. The bard hadn’t the slightest idea how long he’d rolled before stopping, but it was far, as the terrain was sloped downwards.

He had come to an unceremonious halt at the base of a tree, entire body throbbing, unable to catch his breath. Jaskier had never been in that much pain before, he realized now, in a fog. His head had felt heavy and blood was oozing sluggishly out of a gash on his temple. He recalled blacking out for a while, the agony had been too much. What had woken him was when a heavier rain fall had at last begun.

It had been a gradual rousing. He’d come to his senses slowly, aware of nothing but a deep horrid ache. He remembered barely having the energy to turn his head enough to hurl, spilling what little he’d eaten for lunch onto the drenched dirt.

The creature had been nowhere to be found. Jaskier was then able to discern that no, he hadn’t even looked for it before finding his footing and beginning an unsteady trek to get sheltered from the weather.

“Fuck,”

The curse left his purple lips and lingered in the air. The creature could still be out there. Injured, but alive and yearning for revenge.

Panic embedded itself deep within Jaskier’s bones a sinking feeling of doom emerging. Was this truly how he was to perish? He’d hoped for at least a more heroic end, rather than being ripped to shreds by a beast while lost and soaking wet in the woods.

He startled a dry laugh from himself, only to whine when a that triggered a sharp pain throughout his body. Tears once again burned hot behind his eyes. He knew he had to put his shoulder back in place at least. He also knew that doing so would be far from pleasant.

His eyes closed and he took a shaky breath to brace himself to the inevitable. Adjusting his position slightly so he could accomplish the task, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Oh Gods...Three...Two...”

With a jerk he let out a loud cry as he felt the pop. Exhausted, the bard tipped to one side, groaning and allowing himself to sink into the cool earth. Tears were leaking once again, however he liked to imagine his witcher would be proud of him for being so brave.

His head spun suddenly and a low keen passed his lips. That nauseating sensation had returned and he wanted nothing more than to succumb to his wounds, for even breathing shallowly was a difficult feat.

The rain had slowly begun to quell until only lethargic droplets remained, falling lazily from above as bits of sunlight suddenly poked through. The storm must have not quite reached this far, and for that Jaskier was grateful. He found himself worrying about Geralt. Was he alright? Did he have any injuries that needed tending to?

A little worm poked it’s head out of the ground not far from where the poet did lay. It’s soft pink stood out against the dewy grass. The animal wriggled its way out of it’s hole to bask in the sodden ground. Slime peeled off of it’s sticky body as it seemed to dance straight into a muddy puddle, completely at peace.

Time was a concept Jaskier’s groggy mind could not grasp currently. He watched the critters around him in a daze, realizing he could have been laying there for mere minutes, or several hours. Honestly, it wouldn’t have made a single difference.

“Jaskier!”

A familiar voice pierced the strange mist he was under, an edge of desperation to the sudden sound.

“Damn it Jaskier answer me!”

The bard blinked sluggishly. He still felt like he was floating in some distant realm, perhaps a land of dreams. However in this dream he could still feel pain. Nightmare was a better term then, he figured.

“Jaskier! Where are you, you fool!?”

Something inside of him stirred. A tiny voice told him he should answer, or push himself to get up. What little energy he’d used up to pop his shoulder into place had all but left him now. He barely could muster up the effort to keep his eyes open, yet he knew he must.

“Fuck!”

A frustrated cry echoed followed by a loud whack and harsh breathing, more deep curses trailing not far behind.

Jaskier took a shaky inhale and swallowed thickly. With a new found determination he used his good arm to drag himself out of his little shelter and onto his knees. Who knew moving could be so bloody difficult.

“G-Geralt?” He wheezed, closing his eyes at the wave of vertigo which had slammed into him with a vengeance.

Everything was eerily quiet for a moment before suddenly distant footsteps sounded in a dead sprint. Jaskier supposed he should thank Geralts enhanced hearing for being able to pick up on his pathetic whisper.

Looking up once more his vision managed to provide a tiny Geralt, sprinting closer from far off. Before he could stop it a sob of relief had made its way out of his hoarse throat. He forced himself to his feet, swaying dangerously, and keeping most of his weight on his uninjured...Well...Less injured leg.

“Fuck, Jaskier!”

Strong arms instantly engulfed the still freezing bard, who sank into the embrace, crying softly. He was safe, he was found and in Geralts arms. Everything was going to be okay now. He realized that tremors still ran through him due to the frigidity in the atmosphere.

The astute mitigation in which Jaskier found himself was overwhelming however and for a while that was the only thing he could feel. A sheer relief at being with the one man who made everything okay, the person who’s arms felt like home.

Gradually, he realized Geralt was still calling to him, asking him questions that his exhausted brain simply couldn’t comprehend. A hand was promptly placed on his cheek, and his half lidded eyes made out his lovers worried expression. It was odd to actually see the concern displayed, and made Jaskier wonder how truly terrible he must look.

“-hear me? Jaskier say something for fucks sake!”

He managed to give a soft hum followed by a little cough and a whine as the action resulted in a new blossom of pain.

“Fuck. Fucking shit,” Geralt growled and took a deep breath. “You’re not going to like this but I have to pick you up. It’s going to hurt, but you need to stay awake do you understand?”

Jaskier gave a meek nod and prepared himself as he was scooped up rather gently by the witcher. Unfortunately, as gentle as it was, Jaskier was only getting worse, and being picked up caused him to cry out.

His abdomen now was in absolute agony and Jaskier grew increasingly more concerned with his own well being. Geralt was speaking again, rushed words of attempted comfort as he slowly and very carefully adjusted his grip.

A pitiful sob once more emerged from Jaskier. All he knew was pain, it flared as if poison burning through his every nerve. The one upside to this he supposed, was that his previous chill had all but disappeared.

“H-hurts,” He choked out, voice raw.

“I know, I know I’m going to get you help Jaskier but you have to promise me you’ll hang on alright?” The panicked edge to Geralts voice had returned, rough and bristly. Jaskier yearned to calm him down, but there really wasn’t much he had the strength for.

“Y-you….’lright?” He slurred and tried to focus on Geralt’s face from his position, cradled in those strong arms.

Geralt stopped moving for a brief moment before looking down at him as if he’d grown another head. “You’re asking if I’m alright? Jaskier you’re half fucking dead!” He yelled, his angry facade being broken as his voice cracked upon the final word.

“K-knew you...you’d come,”

Geralts jaw clenched, lips quirking down. His adams apple bobbed. He remained silent but picked up his pace, determined to get help.

Jaskier knew he was fading, and fast. Every ounce of the remaining strength he had was nearly gone. His head drooped all the way back, the weight of it too much, and tears continued to leak out of his now closed eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Geralt’s sharp tone yelled, but Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to respond.

“Jaskier! Jaskier!”

The last thing he recalled before losing consciousness was the terror in Geralt’s voice and the harsh scream he let out, before suddenly there was nothing.

Geralt had been in a wild frenzy. The mere couple hours that he’d scowered the forest had passed painfully slowly. From the moment he’d watched his lover be swept away before his very eyes, all he could do was search and scream for him until his throat ran dry. He had never before felt such a panic as he desperately foraged. The only thing that had provided just a hint of solace for the witcher, was seeing that his bards idiotic plan had somehow succeeded in killing the creature. It’s head had been bludgeoned between the very same boulder Jaskier had pushed, and a large moss covered fallen tree.

The sight of Jaskier, once Geralt had finally found him, had felt like a blow to the gut. To say he looked awful was an understatement. He’d been far from okay, however he was _alive_ and for that Geralt was relieved beyond measure. The witcher’s hands had trembled as he took his companions form into his arms and a heavy exhale was sucked out of his lungs with a quiver. Never in his existence had he encountered these feelings of chaos which tumbled through him. It had left him reeling, a fish out of water.

The sheer amount of dread that had filled him to the brim when Jaskier’s eyes rolled back would torment him until the day he died. The very moment that the bard stopped breathing, there’d been shards of glass in Geralts lungs and his heart had been impaled with unabated horror. The witcher had dropped to his knees and begun chest compression, all the while screaming, cursing the Gods in a deranged hysteria he’d never known before.

_“Jaskier! Jaskier!”_

Even thinking about it now caused his throat to constrict, hands tangling into his thick hair and pulling until it felt like his scalp would bleed.

_“Wake up! Wake the fuck up now dammit!”_

The knowledge that he’d nearly lost Jaskier made a bilious fervor roil inside of him. The room felt too small all of a sudden the walls loomed nearer, threatening to crush him. He had to get out, he was near bursting with turbulence. The witcher had never felt so much so strongly all at the same time, and he feared he couldn’t face it.

Waiting in this state of dread did nothing to ease him. It had felt like a life time before he was able to get Jaskier to help. As soon as he’d reached Yennefer with an unresponsive bard, she’d ushered him out of the room to work uninterrupted, giving him nothing as she’d practically slammed the door in his face. There had been horror on her expression as she took in the scene, a brief panic of worry for her friend before a determination set in her violet eyes. Geralt had faith in her, however the vice like grip of terror that held onto him left no room for patience or much hope at all.

The door opened and the witcher nearly jumped out of his skin. His frazzled face snapped up to Yennefer, who stood in all her glory.

There was a hard look on her face, and what appeared to be possible tear stains along her cheeks, but she somehow remained unreadable. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to Geralt who’d been frozen, eyes wide and red rimmed. He knew her magic was strong, but he feared it would not be strong enough.

“How…?” His voice broke, unable to properly ask the question.

“He’ll live,”

Those words undid him. The crash from the high of the emotions left him reeling. He was glad he’d opted to stay seated, for if he’d stood he’d have fallen back to the ground. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The harsh sob that suddenly pushed it’s way out from deep within his heavy chest startled both him and the sorceress.

“Geralt,” She was at his side in a heart beat, kneeling before him with no regard for her expensive silk dress, focused only on her suffering friend. Her soft hands reached out to take his, with a certain empathy she saved only for moments like these.

“I-”

She cut him off, gently shushing him, one of her hands brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Geralt it’s alright. Let it out. I know how terrifying it must have been seeing him like that. Don’t you keep this inside. It’s okay,” She promised, voice soft.

And that was when the white wolf cried. He cried for the first time since he was a child. He cried for the lover he’d almost lost. He cried for the emotions he’d spent most of his life attempting to eradicate. He cried with the grief of what almost was. The loss that would have broken him, sucked his very essence out and tortured him for eternity.

It was almost liberating, sitting there his body shaking with each gut wrenching sob. There was a weight that he hadn’t known he carried, and as he let his tears fall, it had lifted in one swift motion leaving him breathless. He sat there in a fog once his sobs subsided, for several moments before Yennefer had gently moved the witchers face to meet hers.

“Come. You can see him now. I think it will help,” She stood and assisted in getting Geralt to his feet, leading him to where Jaskier was. “You’re not hiding any injuries from me are you?” She asked, giving him a quick once over as if she expected him to lie to her.

Geralt shook his head a little, and braced himself to see Jaskier. His jaw clenched when he took in the sight of his bard. He made a bee line to his side, sitting on the chair by the bed that Yennefer had kindly set up for him.

“You are certain he will be alright?” He asked, voice low and rough.

The witch followed him and placed a comforting hand on his back. “Yes. He should be up within the next couple days, but will need to rest, and take it nice and slow. You’re both welcome to stay here as long as you need, of course,”

“Thank you,” He breathed, taking Jaskier’s hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything alright? And try to get some rest,” She leaned down and pressed a friendly kiss to his head before making her departure.

Geralt did not get any rest. Not once did he let himself relax, opting to stay up, vigilant by Jaskier’s side. Yennefer thoughtfully brought him breakfast that morning, but the witcher had no appetite. He sat forlorn, waiting and watching. Occasionally, he’d reach out and run his fingers through the soft brown locks he’d come to love as much as he loved the bard who possessed them. Even in his sleep Jaskier was still ridiculously beautiful.

“Geralt?” The little voice in the doorway gave out a gasp.

He had not been expecting another presence, however Geralt was not surprised that when he turned he saw Ciri, wide eyed and panic struck, hovering in the doorway. Her face had gone a sickly pale and her gaze was fixed on Jaskier, a hand covering her mouth. “Is-is he alright?”

Yennefer appeared beside her, a soft frown upon her brow. “Ciri. I told you not to come in here,” She scolded lightly. “Jaskier needs rest. As does Geralt,” she fixed her friend with a look. It was clear she knew that he’d not slept a wink.

Ciri ignored Yennefer, padding further into the room and stopping just short at the foot of the bed. “You didn’t tell me Jaskier was hurt,” The princess whispered, eyes welling up before she turned to give Yennefer an accusatory stare.

“You were nearly asleep when I told you they’d arrived last night,” Yennefer provided, but the words did nothing to ease the young girl who sniffled, hands fidgeting with concern.

“Ciri,” Bright green watery eyes flicked up to meet Yellow. “Come here,”

She practically flew into Geralts opened arms, burying her face into the crook of his neck, a whimper surpassing her lips.

“It’s alright,” The witcher spoke softly, and for once allowed himself to believe those words. “Yen...She made sure of that,” He explained and moved to look at the sorceress, aware of the immense amount of gratitude he held.

The two remained in an embrace for a little longer before Ciri turned once more to Jaskier. A few tears had leaked out of her eyes despite her efforts to stop them. She stole a moment to collect herself before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the bards cheek.

A tender feeling bloomed within Geralt’s chest as he took in the sight. The love he held for the three people in this room was overwhelming, and yet he refused to believe he’d truly lived until he knew this little family of his.

“Come Ciri,” Yen spoke softly holding out a hand to the girl, who hesitated but nodded and went back to her mentor. “If anything changes, let me know,” Yennefer continued, and Geralt caught the worried flash in her eyes as they hovered over Jaskier before the two women made their exit, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.

Geralt was left in silence once again, his thoughts providing enough noise as he resumed his position, lacing his fingers with Jaskiers and brushing his lips over the soft skin of his palm. He remained seated paying no mind to the passing of the day, only eating when Yen had threatened to force food down his throat herself, promising to make it unpleasant.

It happened when Geralt least expected it. The gentle stir had gone unnoticed, as his own exhaustion had at last caught up to him. The position he’d been in had looked none to comfortable. The white wolf was bent over the side of the bed, head resting on his left forearm. His right hand still held the bards with a tenderness he refused to show to any outsider. It was a display of affection which had taken him quite some time to indulge in.

Jaskier’s lips quirked as he let his sleep crusted eyes linger upon the form of his beloved. He’d been slightly surprised upon regaining consciousness, having figured he was a dead man. Truly the bard should have known Geralt wouldn’t let him die. It was foolish to entertain the thought as a matter of fact. He recognized the room as one of many in the home of Yennefer of Vengerberg herself, finding solace in the realization that he’d been in good hands.

“Geralt,”

Although the tone was soft, it had still managed to send a jolt through the witcher, who’s head whipped up so fast that Jaskier was afraid he’d hurt himself.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. He sat up properly, his hand moving to rest upon the side of Jaskier’s face. Instinctively, he leaned into the touch with a soft hum. “Don’t you ever do that again do you fucking hear me bard?”

Jaskier’s heart broke in two upon hearing the distress in his loves voice. He let himself take a good look at Geralt and frowned. He appeared disheveled and almost as if he’d fall apart at the gentlest breeze. His hand curled around the larger one that held it as he gave a slight nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Geralt heaved a shuddery sigh and ran his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek bone. “I-” His voice broke. He let out a growl of frustration, however he hadn’t needed to say a word, for Jaskier understood. Jaskier always understood him.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t...I couldn’t let it hurt you Geralt. I-I was so scared for you. Seeing what it did to those people… All I could imagine was the same happening to you,” The bard couldn’t stop the new wave of tears. “I’m so sorry I frightened you my dear, but do not think for a second that I regret my decision,”

Geralt glared at him. “You almost died Jaskier! In my fucking arms!” He bellowed, anger bubbling within him. An anger that Jaskier knew was masking the fear and devastation his darling had felt.

“I’m sorry Geralt, but look at me. I’m here. And I will never make you go through that again alright? I’m here dear heart. I will always come back to you I promise. No matter what happens,” The conviction in his tone left no room for argument, and the witcher found himself leaning forward to capture those sweet lips he loved with all that he had.

The kiss held everything. Passion, love, relief, and it lasted a lifetime but somehow that still wasn’t enough. The two rested their foreheads together upon having parted for air, eyes shut tightly. They basked in each others warmth, a blanket of tranquility covering them in a comforting embrace. The quiet that enveloped was serene, and the amount of adoration radiating from one another felt like home.

“I love you,”

“I love you too my dear witcher.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I decided to add to show a little of Yennefer's perspective and what happened during her time healing our favorite bard. I hope you enjoy!

There were a multitude of things that were very wrong with the image of what had greeted Yennefer that cool spring evening. It felt as if she’d been suddenly submerged into ice water, the needle like sensation stealing her breath away and leaving her shocked in it’s wake. For several beats, the sorceress could only stare in horror at the disheveled form of Geralt and an unconscious Jaskier, barely holding on. The sight was nothing short of petrifying. If Yennefer didn’t know any better, she would have believed the bard to be past saving. Though gathering her wits, she had decided then and there that she would do everything in her power to stop that from happening. Not a chance.

_“Help him. Please,”_

It was one of the first and hopefully last times she would ever heard Geralt sound so desperate and broken. His red rimmed eyes had pleaded with her, and Yennefer’s stomach had sunk, nearly pulling her into a void of frantic worry. She had ushered them both into one of the guest rooms, and only allowed the witcher to stay long enough to set Jaskier’s still form in bed before she had made him wait outside. The last thing he needed was to watch as Yennefer worked. It would only cause him panic and unnecessary pain to see. Besides, this way he didn’t have to see the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back.

“Oh Jaskier, what have you done to yourself?”

The words had tumbled out of her lips in a quaky whisper, as she rushed to save him, knowing just how high the stakes were. Her heart - the blasted thing, - was beating at a fast pace, giving away just how frightened she felt for the bard. The two had a unique bond. One that involved quite a bit of teasing and bickering, but they both knew they held a deep love and respect for each other. Jaskier had always prided himself in being able to make Yennefer laugh. The sorceress’ throat tightened at the intrusive thought, which she pushed away and forced herself to focus on the crucial task at hand. There was no room for distractions at the moment. She refused to let Jaskier die.

“You will not do this to us you bastard, we still need you around, alright?”

Moonlight illuminated the room with beams of iridescent light, which would have been quite stunning if the situation weren’t so dire. Large candles otherwise provided the light she needed to work, their orange flames flickering across ashen cheeks. It was to be a restless night for them all, that much was clear.

It had taken longer than she would have liked. The heaviness in her heart, and the animosity towards whatever, or whoever had done this to Jaskier had nearly suffocated her. However once she was certain he would recover, she let herself sink onto the bed with him, exhausted and shaking. She would like to blame her tremors on the exertion of using her magic to save him, however deep down she knew it was due to the stress of being so close to losing him.

Those blasted tears had appeared once more and she sobbed softly, taking several deep breaths to collect herself. The air surrounding them was thick with a rigidity that had not yet eased. Violet eyes scanned over the prone form of her friend, followed by an outstretched hand which caressed his still too pale cheek. She allowed herself this moment of weakness. Just this one, to let down those walls she’d spent years building up. The damned tears flowed relentlessly as she took in the severity of what had occurred, and the possible outcomes that would have crushed her.

Ciri. The princess would be absolutely devastated as well if they’d lost Jaskier. Yennefer knew that Ciri would likely be upset that she hadn’t been informed on Jaskier’s state. The young girl loved him. She’d known him since she was a babe, as Jaskier would often go to Cintra to play, visiting Ciri as well. Since then, the two had connected and now, their bond had only grown. The two of them constantly had fun little adventures of their own.

Another jab of pain was sent straight through Yennefer’s heart. Painted lips curled to form a sad smile at the thought of what the bard would say if he were awake to see her in this state.

_“_ _Crying for me? Why Yennefer, I never thought I’d see the day. I’m touched, truly I am. Oh no don’t stop now, let me savor this,”_

Yennefer could practically hear the words, and see that mischievous little grin of his. Before she knew it she had turned once more to look at him.

“I suppose I should go tell Geralt you’ll live to see another day yet,” She spoke quietly and dried her tears, composing herself before getting to her feet. “Know this, if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll have to kill you myself,” She spoke to him.

If anyone was asked, they’d say Yennefer of Vengerberg did not scare easy. They would say she was tough, ruthless even, and had no weaknesses. They would be wrong of course. Everyone had some weakness. Yennefer’s was her family. The witch would never show this side of herself to others. The vulnerable side that would expose what she feared most. There was little in the world that could make her admit to being afraid, but this she could admit. At least to herself and Jaskier, since he was unaware of what had transpired. The witch had never known a true family before, and she’d be damned if she was going to lose anyone in it.

With one final look towards the bard, and the knowledge that he would be alright, she schooled her face to a neutral expression. Once again she closed off this side of her and set up her walls. Everything was fine and no one had to know that yes, Yennefer of vengerberg could indeed let herself feel.


End file.
